OUTDOOR COLUMN: The best – and the worst – of duck blinds

This blind on the Neuse River is a good place to be on a cold, blustery day when the ducks are flying.

Ed Wall/Special to the Sun Journal

By Ed Wall, Special to the Sun Journal

Published: Thursday, November 29, 2012 at 03:10 PM.

Some of the best — and some of the most miserable — times I have ever had in the outdoors were spent in duck blinds. Such is the nature of the sport we call waterfowling. And, duck blinds are an iconic part of it.

For thousands of years hunters hunted ducks and geese by concealing themselves in whatever cover was readily available and dispatching their quarry whenever it came within range. A lot of them still do it that way. Hunters, standing quietly beside towering cypress trees in flooded bottomlands have been the undoing of unfathomable numbers of wood ducks and mallards. Others, squatting in coastal marshes and along inland rivers have downed sacks full of those species plus scaup, pintails, widgeon and the like. There’s nothing wrong with that. In fact, as we get older, many of us adhere more readily to the minimalist approach to everything, including duck hunting. That said, it’s also a fact that many waterfowl hunters consider a blind to be as important as their favorite shotgun or a well-trained retriever.

No one knows when specially-built duck blinds were first used in this country. It is a fact, however, that “sport” hunters were gunning from them in the marshes of Chesapeake Bay, Currituck Sound and the Mississippi Delta at the turn of the 20th century. Noteworthy sportsmen such as Nash Buckingham and Pres. Grover Cleveland shot ducks and geese from blinds that were not much different from ones used today.

Duck blinds used for sport hunting can be classified according to their basic design and, in some cases, a style unique to a particular region. Regardless of differences in their architecture, their purposes are uniform: to conceal hunters from the sharp eyes of approaching waterfowl and provide at least some physical comfort. Pit blinds are just what the name implies, holes that allow hunters to get at least most of their bodies below ground level. They are often lined with wood or metal, usually have some sort of bench seat, often have brushy cover around the edges and can be as elaborate or as simple as the builder wishes. Pit blinds are more common in the West and Midwest than the lower portions of the Atlantic Flyway or on the Mississippi delta. That’s because the low, wet soils in the latter regions can make it difficult to keep water out of such a blind. They’re standard fare, however, in the flooded rice fields of California, Texas and Arkansas.

There is a way to build a pit blind in a low, coastal marsh. It involves pushing soil up with a piece of heavy equipment and then digging the pit in the top. I hunted in just such a blind a number of years ago at Bodie Island, N.C. On a small mound in the middle of a shallow impoundment, it was lined with sheets of galvanized metal and had about a foot of water in the bottom which stunk to high Heaven. When it got light, I realized why. Someone had used it as a toilet! I hunted while literally standing in a cesspool. Two other things I remember about that day were the bitterly cold wind coming off the nearby ocean and pintails that seemed to be doing acrobatics as they sailed past my hiding spot.

Other blinds I’ve used over the years were a little bit more sanitary and cozy. While in college a buddy and I built a “stake” or “box” blind in the shallows of the Pamlico River about 100 yards from shore. It had plywood sides with wax myrtle bushes wired and nailed all around the outside. Supported by heavy, creosote-treated posts, it was high enough from the water that a small boat could be pulled up underneath and hidden by camouflage cloth. On a good “duck day,” when the wind roared out of the north, we would hunker down with a small Coleman heater between us and wait for the canvasbacks that were plentiful in those days to investigate our decoy spread.

I’ve been in other box blinds that weren’t nearly so comfortable. One was on North Carolina’s Core Sound where such blinds are often left bare of any kind of vegetative cover. The idea is that, over a period of time, ducks will become used to the weathered wooden structures and ignore them. That seems to be the way it works but it also means there is less to block the wind on a cold day, especially when there are all kinds of holes and cracks in the blind’s sides. A fellow left me in such a blind one morning and went to hunt another spot, promising he’d be back in a few hours. As the sun rose, so did the wind - and the temperature plunged. I got so cold I huddled in one corner and tried to figure out if I could build some kind of fire without burning the blind down. That seemed to be a moot point, though, because the structure was swaying and shaking so violently in the gale-force wind that it felt like it would collapse at any moment. When my friend finally came back, he flushed several ducks out of the decoys around the blind and couldn’t understand why I hadn’t been interested in shooting them.

Some of the best — and some of the most miserable — times I have ever had in the outdoors were spent in duck blinds. Such is the nature of the sport we call waterfowling. And, duck blinds are an iconic part of it.

For thousands of years hunters hunted ducks and geese by concealing themselves in whatever cover was readily available and dispatching their quarry whenever it came within range. A lot of them still do it that way. Hunters, standing quietly beside towering cypress trees in flooded bottomlands have been the undoing of unfathomable numbers of wood ducks and mallards. Others, squatting in coastal marshes and along inland rivers have downed sacks full of those species plus scaup, pintails, widgeon and the like. There’s nothing wrong with that. In fact, as we get older, many of us adhere more readily to the minimalist approach to everything, including duck hunting. That said, it’s also a fact that many waterfowl hunters consider a blind to be as important as their favorite shotgun or a well-trained retriever.

No one knows when specially-built duck blinds were first used in this country. It is a fact, however, that “sport” hunters were gunning from them in the marshes of Chesapeake Bay, Currituck Sound and the Mississippi Delta at the turn of the 20th century. Noteworthy sportsmen such as Nash Buckingham and Pres. Grover Cleveland shot ducks and geese from blinds that were not much different from ones used today.

Duck blinds used for sport hunting can be classified according to their basic design and, in some cases, a style unique to a particular region. Regardless of differences in their architecture, their purposes are uniform: to conceal hunters from the sharp eyes of approaching waterfowl and provide at least some physical comfort. Pit blinds are just what the name implies, holes that allow hunters to get at least most of their bodies below ground level. They are often lined with wood or metal, usually have some sort of bench seat, often have brushy cover around the edges and can be as elaborate or as simple as the builder wishes. Pit blinds are more common in the West and Midwest than the lower portions of the Atlantic Flyway or on the Mississippi delta. That’s because the low, wet soils in the latter regions can make it difficult to keep water out of such a blind. They’re standard fare, however, in the flooded rice fields of California, Texas and Arkansas.

There is a way to build a pit blind in a low, coastal marsh. It involves pushing soil up with a piece of heavy equipment and then digging the pit in the top. I hunted in just such a blind a number of years ago at Bodie Island, N.C. On a small mound in the middle of a shallow impoundment, it was lined with sheets of galvanized metal and had about a foot of water in the bottom which stunk to high Heaven. When it got light, I realized why. Someone had used it as a toilet! I hunted while literally standing in a cesspool. Two other things I remember about that day were the bitterly cold wind coming off the nearby ocean and pintails that seemed to be doing acrobatics as they sailed past my hiding spot.

Other blinds I’ve used over the years were a little bit more sanitary and cozy. While in college a buddy and I built a “stake” or “box” blind in the shallows of the Pamlico River about 100 yards from shore. It had plywood sides with wax myrtle bushes wired and nailed all around the outside. Supported by heavy, creosote-treated posts, it was high enough from the water that a small boat could be pulled up underneath and hidden by camouflage cloth. On a good “duck day,” when the wind roared out of the north, we would hunker down with a small Coleman heater between us and wait for the canvasbacks that were plentiful in those days to investigate our decoy spread.

I’ve been in other box blinds that weren’t nearly so comfortable. One was on North Carolina’s Core Sound where such blinds are often left bare of any kind of vegetative cover. The idea is that, over a period of time, ducks will become used to the weathered wooden structures and ignore them. That seems to be the way it works but it also means there is less to block the wind on a cold day, especially when there are all kinds of holes and cracks in the blind’s sides. A fellow left me in such a blind one morning and went to hunt another spot, promising he’d be back in a few hours. As the sun rose, so did the wind - and the temperature plunged. I got so cold I huddled in one corner and tried to figure out if I could build some kind of fire without burning the blind down. That seemed to be a moot point, though, because the structure was swaying and shaking so violently in the gale-force wind that it felt like it would collapse at any moment. When my friend finally came back, he flushed several ducks out of the decoys around the blind and couldn’t understand why I hadn’t been interested in shooting them.

Other blinds have been less challenging and, in some cases, more effective. One consisted of nothing more than the round end of a large, wooden cable spool. I attached it to two cross members between three trees growing out of the backwaters of an old mill pond. Camouflage consisted of some heavy monofilament fishing line strung between the trees at chest level and long clumps of Spanish moss draped over the line. To the wood ducks that came pouring in to the dark, shallow waters surrounding the blind, I was nothing more than another knot on one of the trees. The biggest problem was it was too effective. It was hard to show restraint when a limit of ducks was on the water and more were coming.

Some of my fondest memories are of another blind, just a simple stake-and-chicken wire affair on a marshy point. It was a far cry from one in Louisiana I read about that has three levels complete with “a full kitchen, electricity, two couches, TV, a running toilet and a margarita machine.” But, my little blind could do something that went well beyond those creature comforts. It could produce memories of days spent with a good friend, laughing and talking as flocks of bluebills and ring necks winged their way up the river and snow flurries turned the marsh grass white. Such is the nature of duck blinds.